


Need

by KaticaLocke



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, One-Shot, Romance, Slash, incubus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:16:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaticaLocke/pseuds/KaticaLocke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every month, Finch disappears for three days. Where does he go? Reese decides to find out, with unexpected consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this was supposed to be a Halloween story, but it's not. Maybe if you turn out the lights and eat candy corn while you read it, but that's as close as it's going to get. Originally, it was titled 'Not a Halloween Story', since -- you know -- it's not a Halloween story and I couldn't think of anything better, but I have since changed the title to 'Need', which I think fits very well.
> 
> This is what happens when the plot-bunnies get into the Halloween candy. ^_^

"Hey, Finch?"

"Hmm?"

Reese glanced up from reloading magazines, across the library at Finch busy at his workstation. "Have you ever noticed," Reese said, watching those stiff shoulders for any sign that he _had_ noticed, "how for most of the month, it's one Number after another, and then right around the twenty-third or twenty-fourth, the Machine goes quiet and you disappear for three days? Always three days, always a month apart." Finch didn't move, didn't so much as twitch.

"And what do you suppose that means, Mr. Reese?" he asked, his tone dry, disinterested.

"At first, I thought you might be a werewolf," Reese joked, trying to provoke a reaction, but again, he got nothing. "But your mysterious absences don't coincide with the lunar cycle. Physical therapy appointments, perhaps? Or appointments of a more intimate nature?"

Finch sighed, logged out of his computers, and rose stiffly from his chair. "Mr. Reese, you really need to find a hobby. Every thirty days, the Machine needs to decompile and defragment the stored data, and during this time, it is restricted to the most critical of operations. I'd advise you to do as I do - get out of the city, rest, and relax. Maybe read a book. Respites are few and far between for us. Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"That's right, it's been thirty days, hasn't it?"

"As if you didn't know," Finch said, taking his coat from the rack. "I'll see you in three days, Mr. Reese."

"See you, Harold," Reese called, returning to sliding the rounds into the clip. When he looked back up, Finch was gone. Smiling to himself, Reese loaded the full clip into his pistol and drew back the slide before putting the safety on and setting it on the table beside his chair.

Didn't Finch realize that for an ex-CIA operative, spying on your boss _was_ a hobby? Still, he decided to take Finch's advice, to get out of the city. And he knew just where to go.

* * *

Two hours outside of the city, Finch turned down a private road, winding up into the hills past a few infrequent houses, but after about four miles, he saw nothing but woods for the longest time. Finally, he turned again, down a neglected road, grass scraping the undercarriage of the town car, leafy branches brushing the sides. He emerged from the undergrowth into a grassy clearing occupied by a single, small dwelling.

Pulling the car around to the rear of the cabin, he parked and took his suitcase out of the back seat, setting it aside as he drew a heavy tarp over the car. He was only going to be there for three days, but the less conspicuous he was, the better. The last thing he wanted was visitors.

Limping up the steps, he unlocked the cabin and went inside. It was cold and dusty, almost derelict. He maintained the building, but he didn't want it to look lived in. Not this part of it, anyway. Carrying his suitcase, he made his way into the bedroom and kicked aside the old, worn throw rug in front of the bed. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he leaned down, poking a finger through an empty knothole to lift up the trap door.

Moving slowly, he descended the wooden stairs into the cold, black cellar, one hand on the smooth, sheetrock wall as he counted the steps. At twelve, he paused and felt around for the light switch, flipping it on and bathing his sanctuary in warm, golden light.

Thick burgundy carpet covered the floor, a plush loveseat against one wall, beside his bookshelves, and a hand-carved cherry wood bed stood against the opposite wall, the navy bedspread and soft, cream flannel sheets turned down and waiting for him. He sighed and allowed himself a small smile. He was safe.

Placing his suitcase on the foot of the bed, he turned on the small space heater, then made his way back up the stairs - which felt like twice as many on the way up - and out to the car. He fetched the groceries out of the trunk, covered it back up, and returned to his den, like an animal going to ground for safety.

Finch puttered around the small living area, putting the food in the minifridge, putting clean towels in the bathroom, hanging his clothes in the closet, opening a bottle of wine, and changing into a comfortable pair of pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. He selected a book from the shelf, even though he'd read them all several times, poured himself a glass of wine, and made himself comfortable on the loveseat. He was good at making the best of a bad situation, and he'd enjoy himself while he could.

* * *

Reese didn't need to follow Finch - he knew exactly where to find him - so he took his time, making his way up the winding, woodland road in the dark, his high-beams catching the milky green and gold fire of eyes watching him from the cover of the trees before vanishing in an instant. Everything looked different at night, and even though Reese had visited the secluded cabin once before - when Finch wasn't there, of course - he almost missed the final turn, the overgrown road almost impossible to see.

Turning off his lights, he crept along in the pitch dark, emerging into the clearing and shutting off the engine, a carpet of stars stretching across the clear night sky. For a moment, he just sat there in the silence, looking out through the windshield at the Milky Way and having trouble remembering the last time he'd stopped to look at the stars, or been in a place from which to see them.

Climbing from the vehicle, he stood beside the car, regarding the dark cabin before him. Had Finch gone to bed already? Moving slowly, he circled the cabin. He found the car beneath the tarp, but no other signs of life. Creeping up onto the porch, he peered through one of the windows, but couldn't see anything inside.

He'd come too far to turn back now, so he pulled out his lock-pick tools. He had the door open faster then if he'd had a key. Probably ought to suggest Finch get some better locks. The cabin smelled of dust and disuse, a cold, stale smell. No hint of Finch's aftershave, no trace of whatever he'd had for dinner. Moving silently, he made his way through the main room of the cabin, peeked into the bathroom, and stopped in the doorway of the bedroom. It was empty.

Reese stood there for a moment, glancing back out into the main room. This was all wrong. This shabby cabin wasn't Finch's style. Was this a trick, a wild goose chase to keep Reese busy? He stepped farther into the bedroom, his nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of...something. He couldn't place it, but just a faint whiff was enough to send a tingle creeping down the back of his neck.

A spot on the floor caught his attention, and at first, he thought it was a circle of moonlight, but there was no moon that night. Leaning closer, he recognized it for what it was: a hole in the floor with light shining through from below. Crouching down, he ran his fingertips along an almost imperceptible seam, then slipped his finger into the hole and lifted the trap door. Now _that_ was more Finch's style.

* * *

_Someone was upstairs._ Book and empty wine glass forgotten, Finch sat motionless, his heart pounding as he stared up at the ceiling, listening to the soft creak of the floorboards, following the intruder's progress through the cabin, into the bedroom. It didn't sound like they were stealing anything. Perhaps they just needed shelter. He couldn't begrudge them that, he supposed. As long as they didn't find him, he didn't care.

Setting the book on the loveseat, he reached over and placed the glass on the coffee table, wincing as his trembling hand knocked the base of the stem against the table top. It wasn't loud enough to be heard through the floor...he hoped. Rising from his seat, he took a step toward the stairs, ears straining to catch a sound from his visitor.

He froze, heart climbing up into his throat as the most frightening sound in the world reached his ears - the creak of the trap door hinges. He couldn't move, could hardly breathe, as a pair of shiny black shoes appeared on the top step, black slacks whispering as his uninvited guest slowly descended the stairs. As the black suit jacket, white dress shirt, and gun appeared, Finch realized that his worst nightmare was coming true, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it.

"Mr. Reese," he whispered. Reese stopped on the stairs, his sharp blue eyes sweeping the room before alighting on Finch, an unsettling intensity in his gaze.

"Nice place, Finch," Reese said, slowly lowering the gun. "Just you here?"

Finch swallowed hard. It wasn't too late. "Yes, and that's how I'd like it to stay, if you don't mind-"

"What's that smell?" Reese asked, lifting his chin and taking a forceful breath through his nose. "It's nice."

"Mr. Reese, _please_ ," Finch implored, but Reese wasn't listening. He stepped off the stairs and turned toward Finch, taking another sniff. Finch's whole body tensed and he took a slow, careful step backward. Reese followed, his gaze fixed on Finch. The gun slipped from his hand and fell to the carpet with a _thump._

Finch whipped around, lunging toward the bathroom, the strain on the damaged muscles in his thigh like a searing fire under his skin, but he ignored it. It didn't matter. He had to get away, to get into the bathroom, to shut the door, to lock it-

He cried out as a strong hand grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, knocking him off balance and sending him falling back against the wall. He raised his hands, trying to push Reese away, but the taller man was so much stronger. He shoved Finch's arms down, his hands gripping Finch's shoulders, holding him immobile against the cold sheetrock. Finch gasped, his breaths loud in the silence.

"What is that smell?" Reese murmured, leaning closer. "It seems to be coming from you." He tucked his nose into the crook of Finch's neck, taking a deep breath and making Finch shudder.

"Yes, y- yes, Mr. Reese, it's me. P-please, listen to me. I...I'm an incubus. Once a month, my body produces pheromones that incite feelings of intense sexual desire in others. You perceive them as a pleasant smell. Oh!" He jumped, tensing as Reese placed a soft kiss on the side of his neck, just below his ear. "John, please! You have to control yourself, you have to get out of here before it gets any stronger. Please...don't do this to me..." He could feel Reese breathing, warmth sliding under his collar, caressing his skin.

"I...I don't think I can stop myself, Finch," Reese said, his voice hoarse. "I want you so much."

Finch closed his eyes, choking back a sob. "Please, not again."

"Again?"

"About a year ago, I was on my way up here when I got a flat tire. One of the lug nuts was stuck and I had no cell service. A good Samaritan stopped to help me...He had me bent over the hood of my car in less than a minute...I- I couldn't stop him-" He choked on the memory, a pressure in his chest making it hard to breathe.

"Shhh," Reese soothed, lips brushing the shell of Finch's ear as he whispered, "Don't be scared. I would never hurt you."

Finch gave his head a small shake. "You won't be able to help it."

Reese's breathing was growing more ragged and Finch could feel a tremor in his strong body; he wouldn't be able to fight it for much longer. "Trust me," Reese whispered and kissed the side of Finch's neck again, his lips sliding up to graze Finch's jaw line, the tip of his nose brushing one of Finch's sideburns. "Please, Harold, trust me, let me...Say you'll let me. Don't make me force you. I couldn't...I couldn't bear it."

Finch swallowed down the lump in his throat. This wasn't Reese's fault - well, it was, actually; Reese shouldn't have followed him - but that was no reason to punish him. He hadn't known the horror he was walking into.

"All- all right, John," Finch whispered, a tremor in his voice. "I'll let you."

* * *

Reese couldn't believe how much it had hurt to see Finch looking at him like that, with such fear, such horror. Like Finch could finally see the monster inside him. And now...Reese closed his eyes, holding back, holding himself in check, but his strength was failing, his control slipping...He kissed Finch on the cheek, drawing a strangled, frightened sound from the smaller man. Finch's verbal acquiescence wasn't enough, _saying_ it was okay wasn't enough.

"I'm sorry, Harold," Reese whispered, unable to stop himself from pressing his lips to Finch's. His hands, holding so tightly to Finch's shoulders, began to migrate, sliding down his arms, one easing up under the sleeve of Finch's T-shirt, the other shifting to Finch's chest, feeling the patter of Finch's heart against his palm. The intoxicating scent of Finch - what had he called it, pheromones? - was clouding his senses, making it hard to think. All he wanted to do was get Finch into bed, both of them naked and sweaty under the covers.

And it wasn't the first time he'd wanted that.

Reese wasn't sure when his curiosity turned into something more, when his sense of duty became personal, but after he'd been shot on that rooftop, he found himself _wanting_ the man who had risked so much to come to his rescue. He'd dismissed it as foolish, a twisted Nightingale syndrome, especially since Finch showed no sign that he did, or ever would, harbor such feelings in return. Reese had a good thing - he wasn't about to fuck it up.

And now here he was, about to fuck it all up, and he could do nothing to stop it. Finch stood rigid, mouth closed, and Reese could feel him trembling, shaking, every breath a gasp. Reese drew back, also unable to stop the hot tears that rolled down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry I'm not someone else."

"What does that-" Finch stopped and Reese swayed, fighting the urge to kiss him again. "John, I wouldn't want _anyone_ to have to go through this, least of all you, but...in some ways...it's better because it _is_ you. Anyone else would have had their way with me already. I feel absolutely awful, subjecting you to this-"

"Don't," Reese said, his mouth hovering over Finch's, sharing his breath. "Don't feel bad. I've wanted you for so long." A soft kiss, a brush of lips, so warm...

"Please don't say that." The pain in his voice cut Reese to the core. "You don't mean it; it's just the pheromones talking-"

Reese couldn't hold back any longer. Like a dam bursting, he surged forward, pressing himself to Finch, capturing his mouth in a deep and needy kiss, his head spinning as his tongue pushed past Finch's parted lips, plundering his mouth. He tasted like wine and felt like heaven, but Reese's soul wailed from the cold, empty plain of purgatory. Finch didn't kiss him back.

Fisting handfuls of Finch's T-shirt, Reese pulled, drawing Finch with him as he backed across the room, almost tripping over the coffee table before finding the edge of the bed. Finch made a strangled sound as Reese pulled him down and rolled on top of him, careful not to jostle his neck or put too much weight on his hip, but he couldn't stop himself from working a knee between Finch's thighs, forcing his legs apart. He reached down, shoving at the waistband of Finch's pajamas, shoving them and his boxers down off Finch's hips.

Finch grabbed at him, hands holding tight to the shoulders of Reese's jacket, but he didn't try to fight him. Hands shaking, Reese wrapped his fingers around Finch's cock, stroking him to hardness. Finch made small, choking sounds, each one like a knife in Reese's heart. Reese finally got his own slacks undone and shoved down, a shudder running through him as he pressed himself to Finch, the feel of the other man's hot, hard flesh against his own unlike anything he'd ever experienced, and he'd had a lot of sexual partners, male and female, creative and mundane. Nothing compared to the exquisite friction and shuddering bliss that the slow rocking of his hips provided.

" _Oh, Harold_ ," he breathed, one hand pulling at the sleeve of Finch's shirt, pulling it off one shoulder. He left a trail of soft kisses down the side of Finch's neck, bowing his head to reach the smaller man's collar bone, kissing and sucking and nipping at the tender flesh, eliciting a whispered moan from Finch. He was shaking inside, fighting an orgasm that threatened to tear him apart, and he couldn't be as careful as he would have liked, his teeth scraping the crook of Finch's neck, digging in as his lips latched on, sucking hard enough to make Finch arch beneath him.

Reese cried out, the noise muffled against Finch's neck, as the climax thundered through him like a runaway train. Blood rushing in his ears, he lay gasping, his hips twitching, pushing his cock against the hot, slick skin of Finch's belly as the aftershocks rocked him. After a moment, he felt a hand against his cheek.

"Mr. Reese?"

Reese raised his head, discovering that he had moderate control of his body. He didn't want to push himself up off of Finch, but he was able to. He sank down onto the bed beside him, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling, one hand resting over his racing heart, the other flung up over his head.

"Is that it?" Reese asked. "Is it over now?" It didn't feel over. He still ached, his lips cold and empty without some part of Finch pressed against them. He realized that Finch hadn't come when he had, and it was all he could do not to roll over and take Finch into his mouth, sucking until Finch cried out in surrender.

Finch sat up and Reese couldn't stop himself from reaching out and grabbing the hem of his T-shirt to keep him from getting away. But Finch didn't try to go anywhere. He opened his suitcase and began searching through the contents.

"I think by now you'll have answered your own question," Finch said softly. "It's just going to get worse. It'll peak sometime tomorrow night and then slowly fade. It's why I'm gone for three days."

"Harold, I'm sorry that I followed you, that I forced you into this position, but-"

"It's not your fault, Mr. Reese," Finch said. "Perhaps I should have told you, then your curiosity wouldn't have gotten the better of us. That's neither here nor there, though. The oxytocin from your recent climax is temporarily blocking the effects of my pheromones, although perhaps not completely," he said, reaching back to touch Reese's hand on his shirt.

"I don't think I can leave, if that's what you're suggesting," Reese said. He wasn't sure he even wanted to. If he could just convince Finch-

"That's what I figured," Finch said. "Lucky for us, I came prepared."

Reese raised his head to see what Finch had, his eyes widening as Finch set a bottle of personal lubricant on his chest. "What- How- Why do you have that?" he asked.

"Why did you bring your gun?" Finch asked.

"In case I needed it."

"Same here. I didn't plan on having a visitor, but I didn't want to be caught without it, just in case." And then Finch was on top of him, kissing him, stealing his breath and driving all coherent thought from his mind. Nothing else in the world existed except them, their lips, Finch's tongue invading his mouth, exploring, dominating and demanding. He didn't even feel the bite of cold metal against his wrist until it was too late.

Finch jerked back, scrambling off the bed and out of Reese's grasp as Reese jerked against the handcuffs, the metal clanking against the wrought iron bed frame. "Harold, what-"

"I'm sorry, John," Finch said, pulling his pajamas back up. He grabbed his car keys off the coffee table. "I know you can't understand right now, but once I'm gone your head will clear and you'll realize that I'm doing the right thing. I can't- I _won't_ take advantage of you like this, no matter how much pain it might spare me."

"Harold-"

"I know you'll get free soon enough, but I'll be long gone by then. Just go home, and if you can stand the sight of me, I'll see you in the library in three days." Barefoot, in just his pajamas, he limped toward the stairs.

"Harold! Finch! Don't go, please!" But Finch didn't even look back.

* * *

Stepping out of the cellar and into the cold, dusty bedroom, Finch closed the trapdoor, blocking out the light from below. In the dark, he tried to move the bed on top of the door, but his hands were shaking so much he could hardly grip the frame of the bed, and it was too damn heavy, anyway. Hurrying as fast as his crippled body would let him, he rushed from the cabin, letting the door slam behind him as he stumbled down off the porch. Biting back a cry, he fell heavily against the car, clawing at the tarp before he managed to peel it back.

It took several tries to get the door open, but he knew the shakes were just the beginning. He was an incubus, after all, and seducing everyone around him was just a side-effect, a minor inconvenience. Just as oxytocin lessened Reese's response to him, it would ease his own pain, but he couldn't justify using Reese like that. Reese deserved better.

Starting the car, he rolled forward, turning on the headlights and startling a deer grazing in the meadow surrounding the cabin. He watched the graceful animal leap away, into the darkness, then turned toward the road, stomping on the brake and lurching to a stop at the sight of Reese's car parked in the middle of the narrow, overgrown track. He sat and stared in dismay, his heart sinking. There was no other way out of this clearing.

With a gasp, Finch doubled over against the steering wheel, drawing his arms tight against his body as a bone-deep ache rolled through him, waves of pain washing over him. Sitting back, he gasped for breath, a cold sweat rolling down his forehead. He had to get out of there while he still could. Soon, it would be so bad, he wouldn't be able to move.

Shoving the door open, he regretted not grabbing his shoes and coat as he limped through the knee-high grass already damp with dew, but he had to get out of there. Consumed by a single need, he staggered onward, toward the woods, not giving a thought to cold or thirst or hunger, or the fact that he probably wouldn't survive the night. He just had to get away.

A strangled cry escaped him and he stumbled, falling to his knees as the pain filled him again, like his bones were being crushed. He could hardly breathe. As it passed, he tried to push himself back to his feet when something hit him from behind, knocking him to the ground, something heavy that pinned him in the grass as he struggled to pull away.

"Stop it, Harold," Reese said, his voice, so rough and ragged, chilling Finch to the core. Finch sobbed.

"You should have left. I gave you a chance to get away. Why didn't it wear off, why couldn't you leave?"

"It did wear off," Reese said, but that made no sense. "Once you were gone, I could understand what you were doing - leaving to spare me - but I can't let you do that, not if it will cause you pain. Now tell me what's wrong."

The pain came again, the clearing echoing with Finch's cry as his back arched, his heels kicking futilely against the soft forest soil. He could hear Reese calling his name, feel him touching him, but he could do nothing until the storm passed. Gasping, he sagged against the ground, his whole body shaking.

"Harold, what can I do?" Reese asked, his voiced filled with helplessness and fear.

"O- oxy...tocin," Finch gasped.

"An orgasm? Is that what you need?"

Weakly, Finch nodded.

"You really are an incubus, aren't you?" Reese said, little more than a dark form kneeling over Finch in the starlight.

"Yes...I'm sorry..."

"You don't have to apologize," Reese said, shrugging out of his jacket. "You never made me apologize for what I was, and I was that way by choice. Can you roll onto your side?" Reese helped him onto his uninjured side, placing his wadded-up jacket under Finch's head as a pillow. Finch shivered, but didn't resist as Reese worked his pajama bottoms and boxers down to mid-thigh, exposing his ass to the cold night air. Taking a deep breath, Finch braced himself, digging his fingers into the long, matted grass around him, holding on tight as he waited for Reese to enter him.

"Sorry, this is going to be a little cold," Reese said. The cold was the least of Finch's worries, but then he drew a startled breath as something chilly and slick slipped between his cheeks and rubbed against his opening.

"You brought the lube?" Finch asked.

"Yeah. I wasn't sure what would happen when I found you, but I knew I didn't want to hurt you. Try and relax now; I'm going to do this quick."

Finch drew a sharp breath as Reese sank the first finger into him. It didn't hurt, but it had been a long time since he'd let someone touch him like that. He pushed back against Reese, a quiet sob escaping him as the ache rolled over him again.

"Hang on, Harold," Reese said, his unoccupied hand stroking Finch's face.

"I'm okay," Finch managed to whisper. "That one wasn't bad." He groaned, his muscles clenching as Reese added a second finger, working them deep before scissoring inside him, stretching him. "That's good, that's enough," Finch panted. "I can take you now."

"Don't tell me you have my measurements in a file somewhere," Reese said and his levity brought a smile to Finch's face.

"No...but I did take your measurements, remember? I'd have noticed if you were disproportionately endowed."

"I'm a little bigger than average."

"It'll be fine-" He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his teeth as a wave of agony washed over him, his breathing harsh and ragged as he choked back the scream that filled his throat. He didn't want to frighten Reese.

"I'm here, Harold," he heard Reese say. "I'm right here." He felt him lie down behind him, felt the hot, slick tip of Reese's cock against his entrance, felt him ease inside as the pain slowly ebbed. Compared to that gut-wrenching ache, the slight discomfort he felt at Reese's intrusion was hardly noticeable. Once inside, Reese stopped, giving him time to adjust. "Tell me when you're ready," he said.

"Now, John - please..." He felt so weak, so pathetic, but he couldn't bear the thought of suffering through another wave of pain. He'd survived much, much worse - nearly constant agony at the peak of his cycle - but with relief so near, he had no strength left.

Reese wrapped strong arms around him, holding Finch to him as he began to move his hips, starting an easy rhythm. Finch gasped, his body twitching as Reese brushed over his prostate, the spark of pleasure like a light in his world of darkness and pain. Reese's hand, slick with lube, found Finch's cock and began to stroke it in time with his thrusts.

"Oxytocin is the 'cuddle hormone', isn't it?" Reese asked suddenly, his breath warm on the back of Finch's ear.

"I think that's right, yes," Finch said.

"So, this isn't _just_ about orgasm."

"I- I suppose not. What-"

"Harold, I love you."

* * *

Finch didn't respond, but Reese knew exactly what he was thinking.

"I know you don't believe me," Reese said, speaking softly as he continued to thrust into Finch's tense body. "That's why I've never told you, why I never would have, under normal circumstances, but it's true. You saved my life when you gave me this job. More than that, you saved my soul. And when you came to my rescue in that parking garage, you gave me back my faith in people. You proved that we're not alone in this world. And you are not alone in this."

"John..." Finch protested, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Reese kissed the back of his neck, just below the hairline. He could feel Finch's body growing tense in his arms, his breathing fast and ragged. He was getting close.

"You're an amazing man," Reese continued. "You're so smart, and so brave, and so selfless. Every day, I wish I could be just a little more like you, with your kindness and humor and innocence. There's so much darkness in the world, so much pain and fear and filth, and you see it, but you don't let it touch you, taint you, destroy you. You are my compass, my North star, my lighthouse. I don't think I could live without you. You mean everything to me."

Suddenly, Finch cried out, but not in release. His body stiffened, like he was having a seizure, his hands clawing at the ground. Reese held him tight, lips brushing Finch's ear as he murmured over and over, "I love you, Harold. I love you..."

When it finally passed, Finch went limp in Reese's arms, shaking and sobbing. Reese redoubled his efforts, thrusting deep as he pleasured Finch with fevered strokes. The desperate moans that punctuated Finch's sobs were heartbreaking and Reese didn't even fight the tears that stung his eyes. This was not the way he'd wanted to make love to Finch, not by a long shot.

"Oh...oh... _oh, John!_ " Finch cried, stiffening again, but this time Reese could feel the thick, hot seed spilling from him. Reese stroked him through every shuddering aftershock, but when he tried to stop, he found himself unable. Finch's scent was thick in the air around them, as heady as expensive perfume, and he could only cling to the trembling man in his arms as he pounded into him again and again.

With a strangled cry, Reese snapped, hips jerking as he came inside Finch. Slowly, Reese grew still, his grip on Finch easing. Neither of them moved for the longest time, Reese still buried inside Finch, not wanting the moment to end, bittersweet though it was. He wasn't sure why Finch didn't pull away. Waiting to see if the pain had really stopped, maybe. Finally, Reese shivered.

"It's cold out here," he said quietly. "Maybe we should go inside."

"Yes...you're right," Finch said, easing out of Reese's embrace. Without the warm body in his arms, the cold surrounded him like a wet blanket, his damp clothes doing little to protect him from the chill. Reese tucked himself back into his pants and climbed to his feet, helping Finch up. As soon as he was on his feet, though, Finch pulled away from him, putting his own clothes right before starting to limp toward the cabin. Reese scooped his jacket up off the ground, shook it out, and hurried to catch up to Finch.

"Here," he said, trying to drape the jacket over Finch's shoulders. Finch shrugged it off.

"I'm fine," he said.

"Okay, fine," Reese said, stung. He followed Finch into the cabin and waited behind him as he made his way laboriously down the stairs.

"You should go," Finch said as he crossed the room to the bureau and pulled out clean, dry clothes. Reese didn't have the luxury, and stood there in his damp, dirty suit, frowning at Finch.

"Is that why you're acting like this, so I'll leave?" Reese asked.

"I'm not acting like anything," Finch said, hobbling back across the small room to the bathroom doorway. "You've done your duty, now go home." He stepped into the bathroom and tried to close the door behind him, but Reese lunged across the room, shoving the door back open. Finch whipped around, staring at him with wide, alarmed eyes.

"You think it was _duty_ that had me fucking you in the field?" he demanded. "Damn it, Finch, I love you!"

Finch shook his head. "There's no need for that now, Mr. Reese. I know you only said it to try to help, and your help was appreciated, but now-"

"You're right," Reese said, startling him into silence. "I only _said_ it because I thought it would help. But I've been _feeling_ it for months now-"

"Will you _stop!_ " Finch shouted, his face twisted in pain. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why are you so angry-" Reese stopped, his heart beginning to pound as the expression slowly bled out of Finch face. There was only one reason. "You're angry because you think I'm lying, because you want it to be true..."

Finch turned away, his shoulders heaving as he took several shuddering breaths. "You say I saved your life," he said finally. "You say I rescued you, but it was you who rescued me, saved me from hopelessness and despair, gave me back a life worth living."

"So why is it so hard to believe that I would feel the same?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"Because I'm not worthy of you," Reese said softly.

Finch shook his head. "You're a better man than you think, better than someone like me deserves."

Stepping forward, Reese took Finch by the arm and turned him around, leaning down and capturing his lips in a deep and breathless kiss. When he drew back, Finch looked up at him and frowned.

"Already?"

Reese gave him a small smile and shook his head. "No, Harold. That was me, because I wanted to. And so is this." He kissed him again, and this time, Finch kissed him back. Hands sliding down Finch's sides, Reese gathered up the hem of his T-shirt and tried to work it up, only to have Finch grab at his hands and pull away.

"Wait, I- I should warn you...my injuries, the scars...they aren't pleasant."

"It's all right," Reese said, reaching out again to catch at Finch's shirt. "I have scars, too." Finch gave him a look that clearly said that he was comparing apples and microchips, but he didn't resist as Reese peeled his shirt up and off over his head. Letting the shirt fall to the floor, Reese walked a slow circle around Finch, noting each pale ridge, each dark pucker, each hard knot. "You're right," he said as he came to stand in front of Finch again. "They are horrific...but the more I care about someone, the more attractive they are to me...and you are _beautiful_." He held Finch's gaze, letting him see the truth behind his words.

Taking Finch's hand, he brought it up to his lips and placed a soft kiss on his palm. "Make love to me, Harold, before the pheromones come back and the oxytocin wears off. Make love to me because you _want_ to."

"Oh, John..." Finch whispered, fairly lunging forward to close the gap between them.

* * *

They managed to get Reese out of his clothes by the time they reached the bed, Finch's pajamas and boxers hitting the floor as Reese dropped to his knees, his mouth hot around Finch's cock, his talented lips and tongue bringing Finch to hardness once again. Pulling back, Reese rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, then climbed onto the bed, lying on his stomach with his bare ass raised invitingly. Finch picked up the bottle of lube from where they'd tossed it on the bedspread during the flurry of undressing, drizzling the thick, cold gel on his fingers.

Reese panted and groaned as Finch prepared him, his fists opening and closing on handfuls of the blankets, his hips rocking, rutting against empty air. Finch worked two, then three fingers into him, rubbing against his prostate and making him cry out, the sweetest sound Finch had ever heard.

"Oh, Harold...Harold, please," he begged. He lay flat, his cock pinned beneath him as Finch climbed onto the bed, kneeling between his spread legs. Finch slicked himself with lube, then positioned the head of his cock at Reese's entrance.

"Are you ready?"

In answer, Reese lifted his hips and pushed back against Finch, impaling himself on Finch's cock. He was so tight, so strong and handsome, so fearless and devoted, his muscles squeezing Finch as he eased deeper, trusting Reese to tell him if it was too much. Reese just moaned and rocked his hips, trying to take Finch completely. Thrusting in to the hilt, Finch took a shuddering breath, bracing himself on his elbows as he stretched out on top of Reese.

"That's it, that's it," Reese panted as Finch moved inside him, slowly at first, just small strokes as he tested his range of motion. He already knew his tolerance for pain, so when his hip began to ache, he just ignored it. It wasn't bad, anyway. The back of Reese's neck, damp with sweat, beckoned to him, and he couldn't resist trailing soft kisses from one shoulder to the other.

What had begun as a nightmare had dawned into the most perfect dream, one Finch had never even dared to have. The feel of Reese's body beneath him, skin so hot, muscles bunching and flexing as he twitched and writhed, that rich, smoldering voice producing the most beautiful gasps and moans - he almost couldn't believe it was really happening.

Finch made it last as long as possible, until both of them were shaking and gasping, his hip burning like someone had touched a fiery brand to his flank. He began to thrust hard and deep, Reese filling the room with his strangled shouts as he came, his muscles clenching and wringing a powerful climax from Finch as well. Finch collapsed onto the bed, rolling onto his back beside Reese, his chest heaving as the air cooled the sweat on his skin, his damp hair sticking to his forehead.

"That was amazing," Reese panted, lying motionless beside him. "I've never- never felt anything...like that."

"Yes, well...being an incubus does have its advantages." He gave a breathless chuckle, then shivered as a chill rippled over his skin. He thought about getting up and adjusting the heater, but it took less effort to work the covers down beneath them and then draw them back up. Settled once more, Finch glanced over at Reese, his face peaceful, eyes closed. A soft smile tugged at the corners of Finch's mouth.

"I love you, too, John," he whispered, the confession taking a weight from his chest.

"Now, Finch," Reese said, "you don't have to say things just to spare my feelings."

"I'm not," Finch protested. "John, I-" He stopped as Reese opened his eyes, a mischievous twinkle in those blue depths. Reese smiled and shifted closer, pulling Finch into his arms and capturing his lips in a passionate kiss.


End file.
